Why Matthew Williams Hates Sunday Mornings
by Life-Drawing-Wizard
Summary: The Jones/Williams are on vacation in Daytona. What will happen when Alfred acts like an idiot? Wait...doesn't he always-? Rated T for language and a little blood.


A/N:_ So, this really did happen to me over the weekend. My best friend and I were at her step-dad's house in Daytona and she really did fall and...well...everything in the story. Except, she was trying to grab a crab that was in the water (don't ask, I have no clue) not being stupid like Al. _

_I'm Mattie in this situation, in case you didn't guess. And they really did make me stay home and she really did get high._

_It was hilarious._

_Random head-cannon: I have officially decided that Mattie and Alfred's parents are going to be Sam and Jean in my stories. Sam because...*clears throat*...Uncle Sam. And Jean because (I did my research!) the Canadian equivalent of Uncle Sam in Canada is/was a cartoon character named Johnny Canuck (according to Google) and since Johnny is another form of John and I know that 'John' in French is 'Jean', which is also a girls name...TA DA! (hello longest run-on sentence ever!)_

* * *

Mattie would have to say that he enjoyed Sunday mornings. Especially during the summer when they didn't have school the next day.

It was always so calm and relaxing.

Well, as relaxing as it could be when you had Alfred for a twin.

This weekend, Alfred had insisted that their parents take them to their beach house in Daytona. The house itself was huge (just like the rest of their houses) with a pool, a boat, a dock, and a four car garage.

Mattie was enjoying his Lucky Charms while Alfred slept like the dead downstairs and their parents watched the news in the living room.

It was a special section on toasters and Mattie was mildly interested, until loud banging on the stairs announced that Alfred was awake.

The blonde bounded into the kitchen in all his swim-trunked glory (an article of clothing that the blue-eyed twin was hardly seen without when at or around the beach).

"Mattie and I are going to the dock!" he announced, grabbing his brother's hand without the other's consent and pulling him down the stairs.

"By the way, where's Arthur?" Alfred asked as the twins slowed their mad dash.

"Out on the boat," Mattie explained, breathing deeply to calm his startled heart.

"Shit!" Alfred cursed, "I wanted to go out. Let's prank call him!"

Mattie rolled his eyes at his brother's though process, "He left his phone here because he knew you'd try something like that. You know, once you re-joined the land of the living."

"Sneaky bastard," Alfred muttered.

"Al, can't we just relax today?" Mattie asked.

Alfred gave his twin a scandalized look, "Blasphemy! We're at the _beach_, Mattie, we don't_ relax_ at the _beach_!"  
The violet eyed twin was about to point out that thousands of people around the world would beg to differ, starting with a certain blonde Canadian, but Alfred cut him off by exclaiming, "Look!"

Jumping up on the sea wall, Alfred started to wobble dramatically, as if on a tight rope.

"Al, get down from there!" Mattie exclaimed, "You're going to hurt yourself!"

But his protests fell on deaf ears as Alfred continued his act.

It happened in slow motion.

Alfred wobbled a little too far, his flip-flops slipped, he fell, his cerulean eyes widening in surprise.

Then the world was moving in fast forward, the American hitting his head on the boat ramp, the slap of his legs as they entered the water.

"Al!" Mattie exclaimed, his violet eyes wide with worry.

He rushed forward, adrenaline making him reckless.

Al couldn't be hurt.

He wasn't dead, just hurt.

He'd jump up any second now and laugh and pat Mattie on the head, telling him it was only a scratch.

But Alfred wasn't standing up.

He was still on the ground, not moving.

Mattie felt tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he started to get hysterical.

But no, he was standing up, he was okay.

"M-mattie...?" Alfred muttered.

And that's when he saw it, the blood, everywhere. Dripping down Alfred's arm, covering his right leg, his swim trunks ripped.

Normally, Mattie would have gone to find a bush to throw up in, but his gag-reflex wasn't acting up, thank God.

"Al..." Mattie muttered, rushing forward to help his twin.

"I'm fine...Mat," Alfred muttered, his words slightly slurred and his eyes dulled,

"Go get mom and dad..."

Mattie didn't want to leave his brother, but when Alfred looked up at him, his dull eyes pleading, Mattie complied, "Alright, stay right here."

He was through the door and up the stairs in no time, reaching the kitchen, he only had time to gasp, "Al fell...blood...!" before his parents were rushing down the stairs.

"Where is he?" his mom demanded.

"By the boat ramp," Mattie gasped as the reached the garage.

Alfred stood there, blood dripping and pooling around his flip-flops, the liquid slowly covering the red-white-and-blue foam.

"Sam," their mom gasped, "Go get the first aid kit, hurry!"

"I'm so dizzy mom..." Alfred muttered as his mom grabbed his arm, helping Mattie get the his twin into the grass and sitting down.

"It hurts, mom!" Alfred exclaimed, burrying his face in their mom's shirt.

"Shh, just breathe," their mom muttered, stroking the elder twin's hair, "Mattie, would you get some ice please? In a small plastic bag."

The Canadian ran up stairs and was back as quickly as possible with a bag of ice.  
Their dad had returned and cleaned up all the blood, Mattie said a silent prayer of thanks, and was putting antiseptic on the wounds, along with some temporary bandages.

"He'll need some stitches," their mom was saying.

Maggie glanced down at the now exposed wounds, and instantly regretted it.

Turning around, Mattie breathed deeply and tried to repress the urge to throw up and pass out at the same time.

He heard his mom say, "Drink some Gatorade, Al, stay awake please."

"Is...Mattie okay?"

The whisper was faint, but Mattie heard it.

Steeling himself, he turned back to his bloody twin.

"I'm right here, Al," he muttered, "I'm fine."

"Arthur?" Alfred asked.

"He's fine too," their dad assured, "Now, we need to get you in the car to take you to the hospital.

"The hospital?" Mattie asked, concerned.

"Just for some stitches," their mom added, "And I think he might have a concussion."

"Would you wait here and tell Arthur what happened when he gets back, sweetie?" their mom asked, turning her worried eyes on her youngest son.

"Sure, mom," Mattie muttered.

He helped his staggering twin into the car.

As their mom ran in the house to get Alfred a shirt and some new pants, Mattie leaned on the frame of the car to talk to his twin.

"It looks like a crime scene over there," Mattie said, nodding in the direction of where Alfred had been standing.

His twin laughed, maybe not as loudly as he might have ordinarily, but it brightened the mood.

"When we get back, I should draw in a chalk body," Alfred added.

Mattie snorted.

In a few minutes, his parents had returned and Mattie was alone to wait for Arthur.

He waited.

Three. Whole. Hours.

In that time, Mattie crashed, his adrenaline finally fading. When he awoke, an hour and a half later, Arthur still hadn't returned.

It was nearly one thirty when the blonde Brit finally returned.

After receiving the news that Alfred was getting stitches, and cursing up a storm in multiple languages (including German. The hell?) he calmed down enough to ask

Mattie to call the twin's parents.

Ten minutes later, Mattie was pulling up to a restaurant where Alfred and their parents were waiting to have a belated lunch.

"He~y, Mat," Alfred drawled when the reached the table, "Guess how many stitches I got~!"

"Umm..." Mattie muttered.

"Eighteen~!" Alfred exclaimed before Mattie could answer, "And they gave me two shots~! In my ass~!"

Arthur raised a very large eyebrow, then turned to Alfred's parents, "Is he high?"

Mattie's mom nodded emphatically.

"He~y, Mat~!" Alfred interrupted.

"Yeah, Al?" Mattie asked sitting down beside his twin.

"I love ya~! Dija know that~?" the blue eyed twin informed him.

"I love you too, Al," Mattie smiled.

So much for peaceful Sunday mornings.


End file.
